


Thrust

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-13
Updated: 2007-09-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: A dark little piece inspired by Leonard Cohen





	Thrust

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

His insides burned at the rough, blunt thrust of Ronon’s cock. It hurt like hell and he wrapped himself around the part of him that wanted that, wanted to feel that searing heat. Lorne jerked at his wrists held firmly in Ronon’s hand and Ronon tightened his grip, his thigh across the back of Lorne’s thigh, pinning Lorne in place across the retaining wall, pushing into him. Ronon was thick and raw, his cock uncut and crude. He wore his sex like hunger and Lorne pushed back, taking Ronon in deeper, taking the coarse, open emotion of predation, hungry for it himself. Ronon’s hand gripped Lorne’s tac-vest as he pounded into him. He held Lorne in place, held him down and Lorne wanted it more than Ronon did, his military issue BDU’s down around his ankles, his cock shoved rhythmically against the cold, ragged stones until he came, cum wetting the tail of his black t-shirt. Lorne breathed hard, the uneven rise and fall of his chest lifting him against the wall and he felt Ronon slip out of him, a long, slow drag that burned as it had pushing in. 

 

Lorne gathered his trousers, pulled them back into place, watched Ronon tuck himself away in black leather britches without a word between them. Ronon looked him over once, his eyes going over the whole of the Major before walking away. Lorne slid the leather strap of his belt through the black skeleton buckle and picked up his weapon, following Ronon into the familiar darkness.


End file.
